


A Right Royal Mess

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [9]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Planet Onderon (Star Wars), Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: As the Empire consolidates its hold on Onderon, Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa and her new apprentice race to free the planet's rightful ruler, while the rest of their unlikely team prepare for whatever may lie ahead.
Series: Lightning Strikes [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	A Right Royal Mess

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on almost immediately from "Apprentices", and may make more sense in that context.
> 
> In the absence of any good data regarding the timescale of the replacement of the clone army by stormtroopers, and in the interests of avoiding Order 66-related complications, I've simplified matters somewhat. Hopefully it's sufficiently canon-compliant.

_Things have definitely changed_ , Helli Abbasa thought as she waited to see whether her hastily-concocted pass and cover story would pass muster. Less than a standard year before, she wouldn’t have needed either. She’d been a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, commander of a quasi-autonomous unit within the 501st Legion. In Republic and some neutral territory, her lightsabre would have been an all-areas pass in itself. But it was very different now. Now her sabre, or any overt use of the Force, was a one-way ticket to execution. A real one, this time. Hence the cover. The documents being examined by a palace guard proclaimed her to be Elli Qass, aide to Senator Lux Bonteri. It was true, from a certain point of view. “Elli” was a justifiable short form of her name, albeit one she had never used before. “Qass” had been her teacher’s name, and the bond between Jedi Master and padawan was often akin to that between parent and child. She was relying on that same fact to allow her to bring Petro, her new apprentice, in with her. And they _were_ aiding the Senator.

The guard either bought the story or wasn’t being paid enough to argue. He let them through, and gave them directions to the throne room, where the new Imperial governor could be found. Helli and Petro found it without difficulty. Jedi, even young ones, are rarely lost for long. More troublesome were the governor’s own guards. While the ones outside were Onderon-born, and had been royal guards until King Dendup’s “abdication”, these looked to be off-worlders. Not clones, thank goodness. The new breed of Imp soldier, volunteers from planets the Empire already controlled. Stormtroopers, they were called. While they weren’t programmed to shoot the two Jedi if they realised what they were, it was still a definite possibility even if their cover held. Careful handling required.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”, one of them demanded. Helli handed over her documentation. “I’ve just come from Senator Bonteri. He needs to arrange certain matters with the King, but he’s too busy to come here himself, so I came instead.” All technically true.

“And the kid?” The other guard was probably glaring at Petro, but in full-face helmets it was hard to tell.

“My son.” Again, true, for a sufficiently elastic definition of “son”. With her ears covered, dyed hair, artificially darkened skin and older-than-I-look eyes, Helli could just about pass for Petro’s mother. Order 66 had aged her more than the war ever could. “I’m looking after him for the day.” And every day after this, until he passed his trials, if that could ever happen again.

“Well, the _former_ King isn’t seeing anyone at the moment. Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.” The first guard didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Then I’ll see the governor. Is he available?”

“Not unless you’re on the list. And you’re not.” Sweet stars. Republic, Confederacy, Empire – it was all about the bureaucracy.

Petro had lost patience. Before Helli could stop him, he made the standard compulsion-gesture towards both guards and commanded, “You _will_ let us through.”

Helli tensed. If the guards were resistant to compulsion, this could get very nasty. Mercifully, they weren’t, but chorused, “We will let you through.”

She relaxed a little, but not fully. Force-compulsion leaves traces. She covered them up with a compulsion of her own, planting a false memory of having been satisfied with her pass and cover story, and despising herself and the whole situation. As she and Petro swept past the compliant guards and into the throne room, she whispered, “Impressive, but reckless. Let me handle this one, OK?” He nodded, ever so slightly. She hoped he meant it.

“And who might you be, my dear?” Skies above. Helli fought down the anger that being patronised always triggered, keeping her features carefully composed as she handed the governor her credentials. As he read them (moving his lips, she noted), she took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in a style similar to what King Dendup had been wearing when she’d met him, in this very room, but wore the clothes in a way that just seemed _wrong_. Dendup carried himself like a servant of his people; this man lounged like a slave-master. Not completely stupid, she thought, but all his intelligence was directed towards maintaining his position and lining his own pockets. His appointment here had Palpatine’s dabs all over it.

Finally, he finished reading and met her eyes. “I see. And what does Senator Bonteri’s trusted aide want with me?”

“The transfer of power here has been rather sudden, and the Senator is a man of great integrity. He may need to assure the Senate that everything was done properly, and for that he or I would need to have spoken to the former King and confirmed that no force or other coercion was employed.” Helli _liked_ this game. Spinning the truth to suit her purposes was unsettlingly enjoyable.

“That seems reasonable. Sadly, the former King is not receiving visitors at the moment. It has been a long day, and he’s not as young as he was. But I can give you _my_ assurance that everything was done quite legally.” Yes, it would have been, Helli thought. Palpatine controlled the legislature.

“Thank you, but I was instructed to speak to King Dendup in person. When will that be possible?”

“I cannot say. Tomorrow, perhaps, if you or the Senator would like to come back then. I’m sorry your time has been wasted like this.” Again, not a note of actual sorrow or regret.

“These things happen. May I use your terminal to inform the Senator about this? He asked to be kept up to date, and I have other errands to run.” The governor directed her to a small computer terminal just outside the throne room. She’d noticed it on her previous visit. Perfect for her true purpose. She thanked him, and she and Petro ostensibly took their leave, in reality starting the next phase of their mission.

“Why did you bother talking to him? You heard what Senator Bonteri said,” Petro burst out as soon as they were alone.

“As long as there was a chance that talking would work, I had to try it. And I think I’ve got the measure of the governor now. What did you make of him?”

“He’s an idiot. And he doesn’t seem to care about people the way a leader should. He _says_ all the right things, but there’s no feeling there.”

“Very good. Although I don’t think he’s a _complete_ idiot. What’s the best way to manipulate someone like that, should it prove necessary?”

“He only cares about himself, so appeal to his self-interest. Or threaten his reputation, as a last resort.”

“Has somebody been teaching you this already?” That had been a perfect answer, down to the regretful tone as Petro suggested blackmail.

“No. It’s just obvious.”

“Not to some people. Remind me to try not to underestimate you in future, my young apprentice. Now, let’s see whether this lash-up actually works.” While Petro stood guard, Hel had been wiring in one of the team’s new gadgets, which, according to Spark, Echo and Tech from the Bad Batch, ought to give Echo remote access even to a closed setup like the palace security system. This was its first field test. Hel checked that her modifications to the terminal weren’t visible to a casual observer, then flipped up a panel on one of the elaborate bracelets she was wearing to reveal her commlink. “Lightning One to Lightning Four. The bug’s in position. Is it working?”

“Perfectly, Lightning One. I have full access to the system. Just working on visualising it.” There were a few nerve-racking moments as Hel and Petro, alert for eavesdroppers and patrols, waited for the technical team to finish whatever they were doing. By the sounds of it, it involved some welding and a bit of near-swearing. Then Echo’s voice came back on the line. “OK, got it. There’s one cell in the detention area with extra security around it, and all the others are in standby mode. Presumably that’s where the King is.”

“Makes sense. Can you talk us through the route?”

“I can do better than that. I’m sending a map to the terminal you’ve just spiked. You should be able to transfer it to your comm.” Hel did so. Echo had outdone himself, which was saying something. The map even had real-time patrol locations marked on it.

“Excellent, Lightning Four. I’ll contact you again when we’re in position.” Hel shut down the connection, and she and Petro worked out the best way to reach their next destination. Most of it was easy. Only high-value or high-risk areas, like the throne room or the detention area, were well guarded. The Empire had anticipated a similar response to the one provoked by the Separatist invasion of Onderon – weak, disorganised resistance, while most of the population kept their heads down. And this time, there was no Republic to help them. Even if a stronger rebellion arose, it would take a while to coordinate, and in the meantime the Imperial government was cutting costs. The one patrol the two Jedi encountered was easily avoided by diving into an alcove (Hel) or scaling the wall (Petro). Those helmets _really_ limited peripheral vision.

Naturally, the King’s cell was guarded. More stormtroopers. Time to vary their strategy a little. Hel watched from a safe distance while Petro goaded the guards into chasing him, then slipped into the cell they had left unprotected. She hadn’t yet met a lock that was proof against Spark’s code cylinder.

“Master Abbasa?” King Dendup looked more startled to see her than she had expected. Not for long, though. “I presume this is another solo rescue attempt?”

“Half right. Two-thirds, really. I’m not on my own.” With perfect timing, Petro raced in, and she locked the door behind him. Now the King looked _really_ startled. “You brought a _child_ with you?”

“Yes, I did. Your Majesty, may I present Petro, my apprentice. Petro, this is Ramsis Dendup, rightful king of Onderon. I presume you gave the guards the slip quite easily?”

“Too easily. I just went round the corner and climbed the wall. They ran straight past me.”

“The old tricks are often the best. All the same, we’d better get out of here, fast.” Hel activated her commlink. “Lightning Four, we’re in the King’s cell. What’s the best way out?”

“There’s a one-way shield over the balcony, which I can deactivate from here, though you’ll have to be quick.” Helli saw that the cell did, indeed, have a balcony that gave out onto the street behind the palace. Nowhere to fix a horizontal or diagonal escape line. It would have to be straight down. Well, she was prepared for this. She reached into her boot and retrieved the folding hook and line she kept there for exactly this kind of thing. The hook was easy (not _too_ easy) to embed into the wooden rail around the balcony; the line was nylon fibre, stronger than it looked, with hand/footholds woven in at intervals. “Okeyday. I’ll go down first, then you, Your Majesty, then you, Petro. If either of you fall, I’ll catch you. Sound good?” It did. Hel signalled Echo to take the shield down, then, once he had, threw the line over the balcony rail and prepared to climb.

Just in time, Echo signalled her again. “There’s a patrol heading for your position. ETA less than a minute. Not scheduled; I just heard them say they were changing direction.” Bother. “Change of plan. Petro, if I swap places with you, can you get the King down safely? Be honest; this is no time for bravado.”

He did her the courtesy of thinking for a few seconds before replying. “Yes, I can.”

“Good. Get going. I’ll deal with the patrol.” He scrambled to obey (literally) as she turned to the cell door. She heard the patrol stop outside; heard one of them asking where the guards were; heard the door being unlocked. No time for diplomacy; not the time for physical violence. Compulsion it was, then. “Everything’s fine. Nothing to report.” The patrol repeated her words back to her, then moved on, locking the door behind them. Hel raced back to the balcony, noted the others’ positions (Petro nearly at the bottom; the King halfway down) and began her own descent.

About a third of the way down, she sensed a bolt of panic from Petro. Glancing down – never wise in that situation – she saw that Dendup was beginning to fall. Petro, safely on the ground, had his hands raised and his eyes shut in concentration as he tried to steer the King back to the relative security of the rope. Hel was about to intervene when her instincts told her it wasn’t necessary. Either Petro had succeeded or he’d entirely failed. Pushing aside the images that rose to the top of her mind as the second possibility occurred to her, she reopened her eyes (closed in preparation for a fiddly task) to see the King once again clinging to the safety line and descending more cautiously. Petro had done it.

Once they were all down, the hook and line had been retrieved and the shield was back up, Helli led the way back to the safe-house. The rescue had taken much of the evening, and they had the cover of darkness to help them. All the same, it was a relief to be back with her brothers and other apprentices, as well as Lux Bonteri and a slightly battered-looking Saw Gerrera.

Introducing the King to the various clones and padawans took some time, as did working out who was actually in charge of the strategy meeting. In the end, Bonteri took control as the only person there with any official standing. Dendup had technically abdicated, and Helli was legally a traitor.

Over a hastily prepared meal, the five teams compared notes. Echo, Spark and Zatt had fixed their malfunctioning comms interception equipment, and could now monitor anything within or near Onderon’s orbit that wasn’t cloaked. Zatt was confident he could fill that gap in a matter of days, and Spark believed him. Fives and Gungi had found Gerrera by the simple expedient of listening for trouble and heading into the middle of it. An ARC trooper and a Wookie can handle most problems that don’t involve high explosives or diplomacy, and some that do. They’d extracted Gerrera from a sticky situation with a group of stormtroopers who hadn’t known what had hit them, and probably still wouldn’t for a couple of hours, with only minor abrasions.

Bonteri and Byph’s news was mixed. “A few of the people to whom I spoke are willing to help us, as long as the Empire doesn’t find out. Others just didn’t want to know. They don’t want the same thing happening on their planets.”

“What about Lady Bo-Katan?” Bonteri was personally acquainted with the new ruler of Mandalore.

“She has too many problems of her own. Mandalore was hit hard at the end of the war, and it’s being leaned on heavily by the Empire. She wants to help, but her own people have to come first.”

“Understandable.” Helli had heard stories about Mandalore’s apparent civil war. And such a fiercely independent people would incur the Empire’s wrath far too easily.

The last group to report, other than Helli’s, was Katooni and Ganodi. They had managed to send a burst transmission to Hondo Ohnaka, asking him to run supplies in if the annexation of Onderon became an occupation or a siege, and Hondo had responded with caution. Katooni wanted to go to Florrum, to talk to the pirate in person, and Helli had to admit that it was a good idea from a strategic point of view. That had been at the back of her mind when she’d assigned Ganodi, a born pilot, to that particular problem. Part of her protested at the concept of sending her new apprentices on such a dangerous errand, and was glad when Bonteri suggested leaving the issue for another day and the motion was carried, but she knew there probably wasn’t another way.

Finally, it was Helli’s turn. She narrated the King’s rescue, careful to give Petro due credit but not too much praise, and included her impressions of the new regime. “The governor doesn’t care about his people. He’ll make sure the Empire’s taxes get paid, and line his own pockets. The soldiers he’s brought with him are cut from similar cloth. I saw a Twi’lek girl crying because a stormtrooper had shoved her out of his way and called her _little tail-head_. Even the Seps’ droids weren’t actively cruel.”

“I’ve heard clones say things like that,” Spark pointed out.

“Yes, but not the way _he_ said it, and not usually to someone’s face. Not unprovoked, anyhow. And it’s only going to get worse. Onderon needs to be free again, ruled by its own, for its own. Anything I can do to expedite that, I will.” She looked at the faces around her. Dendup, tired, but his spirit unbroken. Bonteri, quietly determined. Gerrera, still a little punch-drunk but ready to fight as soon as he could see the enemy. Her brothers, loyal to a fault, to her, to one another and to the people they were created to protect. And her apprentices, so young, so eager to do good and be the peacemakers the Jedi ought to be. Her family. “I may not be a general any longer, and I may never be a master, but as a Jedi, I give you my word that I will do all I can to help you. I can’t force anyone to join me, but if I were to ask, who would?”

The answering shouts were definitely affirmative, and nearly deafening. Helli smiled as Bonteri reached for his water glass and raised it in a toast. “To Onderon.”

Gerrera responded in kind. “To Steela.” His sister, who had died for their people.

Dendup joined in. “To the Jedi.”

Helli had to fight back tears as she made her own contribution. “To absent friends.”

As the meeting/meal broke up and places to sleep were found, Helli was still smiling. Well, they were back in business. And it was hardly the first time Lightning Squadron had found itself in such a right royal mess.


End file.
